Forsaken
by ThoseWereTheDays
Summary: Desperate to reach the Wall, a mysterious young woman poses as a new recruit of the Night's Watch. OC/Jon/Ghost/Sam, etc.
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

So, this is my first attempt at a 'Game of Thrones' fic. I just recently watched the show and loved it. This particular story was inspired by and takes place during season 1. Admittedly, I've only seen the series so far, but I do have the first 'Song of Ice and Fire' book coming in the mail.

Anyway, for you diehard readers out there, please forgive any mistakes or inaccuracies. That's why I'm posting this in the TV Show section…

Hope you enjoy!

_~ThoseWereTheDays_


	2. Chapter I

_Disclaimer: I own a few OC's. George R.R. Martin owns everything else…_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter I<strong>

Less than a week had come and gone since Briarwhite, but the arduous journey had taken its toll. The men plodding along behind their mounted escorts grew colder and more fatigued with each step they took. Even to those built for such travels, the Kingsroad had not been kind.

Blanketed in a thick layer of freshly fallen snow, the land itself seemed to freeze around them as they pushed forward. Already, the harsh winter air penetrated their cloaks like hundreds of tiny needles, and stung their exposed skin. Her lips chapped and sore from the frosty winds, Ashlyn did her best to mask her discomfort from the others as an involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

_Not Ashlyn, _she inwardly scolded herself. _Not anymore._

Soon, they would reach their destination. But until then, she had to keep her hood up, her head down and her mouth shut. It was a miracle, she knew, that she hadn't been discovered yet. She could only assume that her current company was too distracted to notice a young woman masquerading as a man; each of them lost in their own thoughts, grappling with their own personal demons. After all, who among them would suspect an imposter? Who would willingly slog through the sleet and snow only to forfeit their freedom and swear their lives away? Certainly, only a fool would do such a thing…

Scarcely a word had been muttered since the start of the day. Not far ahead of the forlorn group, a trio of riders clad in black guided their shambling destriers through the icy terrain and led the way in idle chatter. Those on foot were left with only the crunching of their boots against the ground, and the clomping of hooves to break the silence. Of course, Ashlyn was thankful for the quiet. The last thing she needed was conversation, or questions.

_Gyrdan, _she reminded herself. _Your name is Gyrdan. One slip of the tongue, and they're liable to put you in chains… or worse._

She had snuck in easily enough, without drawing or arousing unwanted attention. Remaining inconspicuous had been the hard part. Loose fitting clothing and unkempt hair only hid so much. She wasn't quite sure how long her disguise would convince anyone. Finding a private place to tend to more feminine things was a different matter altogether. But for the moment, she had little choice. It was too late to turn back. Even if she did, where would she go?

And so, like the others, she carried on without so much as a word. It wouldn't be long, now. They would likely reach the Wall within the next few hours… and her cousin.


	3. Chapter II

_Disclaimer: I own a few OC's. George R.R. Martin owns everything else…_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter II<strong>

Nothing could have prepared Ashlyn for the awe–inspiring sight that stood before her. No legends, none of the countless tales that she had heard growing up as a little girl in the Westeros, had ever come close to doing the Wall true justice. And clearly, the men she walked alongside felt the same. Hers was not the only mouth agape as they approached the massive structure, and made their way inside.

Castle Black was eerily still. Some men drank and ate their midday meals wherever they could find a spot to sit, while a few others carried supplies to and fro, or merely meandered about as if they had nothing better to do. Besides the occasional glance or whisper, the new arrivals went mostly ignored. Most of the newcomers averted their gazes to avoid eye contact, but Ashlyn couldn't quite bring herself to look away. Suddenly, the decision to come to this place weighed heavy on her shoulders.

_Well, I finally made it, _she thought to herself. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Long ago, taking the black was considered a sign of selfless devotion to one's duty. To become a brother of the Night's Watch had been a high honor. But since that time, the threat of war from beyond the Wall had faded, and it had turned into nothing more than a haven… a sanctuary of sorts for the lost, the undesirable.

Many, now, were disgraced nobles with nowhere else to go, or dregs salvaged from the deepest and darkest dungeons of the Seven Kingdoms. All were spared and given a second chance to prove their worth. Thieves, even murderers, were offered a choice between death or service. This fact did nothing to alleviate Ashlyn's fears of what might happen should she be found out. She did not belong here. She knew that, but her presence could not be helped. With any luck, she wouldn't have to stay any longer than necessary.

"That's far enough, lads," one of the lead riders called out before dismounting his destrier. "Stay put and try to keep out of trouble. The Lord Commander will want to have a word before you get settled in…"

Like her fellow recruits, Ashlyn came to a halt while their escorts departed and left them to their own devices. Pulling her cloak tighter, she took in her new surroundings from beneath her hood. It wasn't long before she saw two figures – one human, one not – descending the stairs of the nearest tower. At first, she assumed it was the Lord Commander. However, she could soon make out the visage of a man near her age, possibly even a year or two her junior, and realized that he was far too young to hold a position of such power.

His face was framed with a long mane of black, curly hair. He had a lean build, and a strong jaw covered in stubble; as if he had recently decided to grow a beard, or had simply not taken the time to properly groom himself. Following on his heels, there was a magnificent direwolf, loyal and white as the snow itself. Ashlyn started, but refrained from turning when a voice spoke up behind her…

"You know who that is, don't you?"

Much to her relief, a second voice responded, "Should I?"

"See the wolf? That's Eddard Stark's bastard," the first answered. "They say he's the best sword here. Don't look like much, if you ask me."

"Quiet!" the second voice hissed under his breath. "'Fore somebody hears you, and they flog the both of us!"

The owners of both voices fell silent when another man appeared on the stairs. In his later years of life, he was tall and imposing, with closely cropped hair and a matching beard of flaxen. The Lord Commander. He stopped once he reached the platform overlooking the courtyard in which they stood, and peered down at them for a moment before speaking.

"Welcome to Castle Black," he addressed them, loud and clear. "I am Jeor Mormont, your Lord Commander. Today marks a new beginning for each and every one of you. I don't know what brought you here, or what crimes you may have committed. Perhaps you did not commit any crimes at all. To put it simply, I do not care. You are here… that's all that matters, now."

Ashlyn found her gaze drifting back to the younger man standing off to the Lord Commander's side; his direwolf lazily lying at his feet while he half listened to the speech, half studied the fresh faces below. She quickly lowered her head when he looked in her direction, and his stare lingered.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she waited several seconds before lifting her chin and returning her focus to the platform. Thankfully, his attention had shifted elsewhere.

"This is the Night's Watch," the Lord Commander finished. "Tomorrow, your training begins…"


	4. Chapter III

_Disclaimer: I own a few OC's. George R.R. Martin owns everything else…_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter III<strong>

Men snored. Loud. It wasn't exactly a revelation; merely something that Ashlyn had been reminded of shortly after supper had concluded, and the last lantern had been snuffed. Miraculously, she had managed to keep her head down during the gathering and eat the entire meal without engaging in conversation. Luck had been on her side. The mood in the Common Hall had been somber during the evening hours. Not much had been said, and most had elected to keep to themselves.

_Thank the gods for that, _she thought to herself.

Now, sharing her flint barracks with four sleeping men, Ashlyn lay awake and chilled to the bone. Even here, with a fire smoldering in the hearth, the cold was almost unbearable. But she didn't care. It was now or never. She had to find him… her cousin was out there somewhere, and he was her final hope.

Tossing her blankets aside, she quietly slipped into her boots and climbed to her feet. She froze when one of the men stirred, but he didn't wake. She took a deep breath before moving for the only exit. Careful not to rouse the rest of her bunkmates, she fought down the knot in the pit of her stomach and slowly crept toward the door. She paused in the threshold and glanced over her shoulder one last time before stepping out into the frigid night air.

_Brilliant strategy, _she admonished herself. _You traveled all this way. Now what?_

Not sure where to begin, she pulled her hood up and turned to begin her search. She nearly let out a shriek when she bumped into a rather portly young man. Or boy, she couldn't quite tell. He appeared to be even more startled than her, but was quicker to recover.

"Oh, beggin' your pardon!" he exclaimed, just above a whisper. Composing himself, he furrowed a brow and squinted through the darkness. "You're one of the new recruits, aren't you?"

"Yes," was Ashlyn's blunt response.

_Lower, _she reminded herself. _You have to talk lower! Like a man…_

"What's your name?" he asked.

She cleared her throat before saying, "Gyrdan."

Brief and to the point. Her answers would have to be brief and to the point. She sounded fairly ridiculous, and would run the risk of revealing herself if she spoke too much. The same could be said if she spoke too little. How would she get out of this?

"I'm Samwell Tarly, but everyone 'round here just calls me Sam. Most everyone, anyway," the rotund boy replied with a shrug. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doin' out here?"

Ashlyn couldn't tell if the question was asked out of suspicion, or a genuine curiosity. "I had to, uuh… you know."

"Oh, I see," he gave an awkward nod as her meaning slowly dawned on him. Turning, he motioned back the way he had come. "The lavatory's that way, but I'd be quick about it. This time of night it's best to stay in your quarters, if you can help it."

Ashlyn remained silent. Visibly uncomfortable, he hastily bid farewell and resumed his previous course. She stepped aside while he brushed past her and went about his business. That was when she blurted it out…

"Lord Urick!"

_Dolt! she inwardly cursed. What are you doing?_

"You know him, I mean," she elaborated, noting the puzzled look on the young man's face as he peered back at her. "Lord Urick? A Ranger. I was instructed to report to him at first light."

"Lord Urick, you say?" he wondered aloud. "Don't know him personally, but I recognize the name. Last I heard, he was riding out beyond the Wall. Not too sure why they would assign you to him…"

"I must be mistaken," Ashlyn replied, doing her best to hide her dismay and failing miserably.

Without so much as another word, she spun on her heels and made for the lavatory. Anything to be alone, if even for a moment. She had to get away. Suddenly, her heart was pounding so fiercely that she thought it would burst from her chest. He was gone. Not there. But for how long? She would find no help, no hope, in this dreary place. Not without him. How could fate be so cruel?

Tears of despair stung in the corners of Ashlyn's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was not that weak. She would find another way to reach him. It wasn't over. Not yet. She wouldn't give up… she couldn't.

He was still out there, somewhere.


End file.
